C'mon, I mean SERIOUSLY?
by DenayJay
Summary: Running from a be-twinkler-er, being stuck in a claustraphobic elevator, and showing your "Twilight-pale" behind to the used-to-be love of your life...all in a day's work for CeCe Jones...


**Author's Notes: Hi guys! This is a little idea that WILL NOT get out of my head. I don't know that I should be posting this until it is completely finished, as I have a habit of leaving people hanging. It was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I wanna know whatcha think, so I'm posting this first, short chapter just to see. This is also my first Shake It Up! fic as I have just recently started watching the show.**

**Disclaimer: They still make you do this crap? No. I do not, will not, and don't even wanna own this show.  
**

"Breathe, Cece. Breathe." I, eighteen-year old Cecelia Jones am facing a predicament. A very, very, _very_ scary predicament. Yellow, police caution tape separates me, and my escape route.

"I see you, BAY-BEE!" I turn slowly in horror. Bearing down on me, looking as if he has just been glitter-bombed, is none other than Gunther Hessenheffer. Now in the past I would have thrown my hair over my shoulder, popped my hip out, and retorted something sarcastically biting. But that was the past, and this was the present. In the past, Gunther had been nothing more than a sparkling, annoying acquaintance. Now, he is an ex-boyfriend, and no matter how short of a time you actually dated, an ex is still an ex. And unfortunately for me, Gunther is no ordinary ex: he is a very sparkly, very determined ex.

"I'm so glad you can see! I guess you don't masturbate as much as I thought!" I go for sarcastic anyway, no surprise, as Gunther comes to a stop right in front of me.

"Vhy vould I need to resort to zuch a zhing vhen I have vou, my kitten?" Using his imposing height, Gunther backs me against a wall. My face turns green with what he is implying. See? I knew any sarcasm I tried to use would backfire. But really, American boys had rubbed off on him! What had happened to the innocent, border-line-flaming-homosexual boy I had grown up around? It actually kind of surprises me that he knows what 'masturbating' meant. I myself have only just recently learned the meaning, and that was by a purely accidental, life-scarring event that involved my now adolescent brother Flynn and, strangely enough, an episode of iCarly. _Ughhh._ I shudder and turn even greener with the thought.

"Gunther, how many times do I have to tell you? It's over!" Even though I am eighteen, I measure in at a lousy 5'3". Not very intimidating against someone who has a whole foot on me. Still, I am not one to back down. "Now get the eff outta my way, before I castrate you!" Rocky would be so proud, I am expanding my vocabulary! That makes it official; castrate is my new word of the day. (It had previously been bologna, but that was only because of Oscar Meyer and his darn catchy jingles.)

"Vut zhen vou vould never have vhe joy of vecoming a mozer!" Gunther is, alarmingly, sniffing my neck. "Ah, Zeze, zou zmell like vy voman!" Okay. Now _that_ was it! I lift my fist and aim at Gunther's nose. I probably should sum up some sympathy for Gunther, but all I can think about is how badly my knuckles will hurt tomorrow. Stupid Gunther and his under-cartilaged nose. But my hit never lands.

Gunther sidesteps at the last minute, grabs my fist, and spins me around so that my back presses against his chest, a move I would consider hot by any guy who didn't have a be-twinkler as a third arm.

"Vhy don't vou vut vhat avay, and vring zome other toys vout to vlay." _Oh GOD! _I have to escape. This stalkerish behavior of his has gone too far. I stand perfectly still as Gunter trails kisses along my neck, observing my surroundings. The caution tape blocking the descending flight of stairs, and preferred escape route, once again draw my attention. Apparently a robbery went down the last night, and the police are still investigating the scene. That leaves me with two options: Take the adjacent ascending flight of stairs, or the dreaded claustrophobic elevator.

"VOUCH!"

With a well-placed jab of my elbow, I am free and heading towards freedom, or so I think. I never was one to think my actions through, so I never consider that running upstairs is actually further trapping me until I reach the next flight, and realize that I have nowhere to go. Darn Gunther! He cornered me as I was coming out of my apartment this morning! Wearing a short skirt and heels don't really mix well with a fire escape in a windy city, thus the reason for my venture out into the actual hallway of the building.

"BAY-BEE!" Shi-shoot. Shoot. Gunther is closing in. I don't have time for running down the hallway to the Blue's apartment. Besides, I doubt they are home. Rocky has freshman orientation today. And that would be too predictable. Right at this moment, the elevator dings. I'm taking it as a sign of fate, and do what any claustrophobic girl running from her slightly delusional, very twinkling ex-boyfriend would do: take the elevator.

Well, the word 'take' is used very loosely. It would be more accurate to say that I _take a running dive_ and sail into the elevator. Which would have been okay if not for three things: One, I am wearing heels. Two, I am wearing a dress. And three, someone choses that exact moment to emerge from the elevator. Or try to. They don't quite fully make it out of the elevator before a mass of red curls torpedoes into them, knocking them back.

"Stupid _effing_ high heels! Stupid _effing _dress!" I growl. But I don't have time to yell at the accursed things. "BAY-BEE! Vait!" I push off the surprisingly hard person I just knocked to the ground, jump up, and don't think twice about the small space I am about to willingly enclose myself into. I jab the 'close elevator doors' button right as Gunther emerges from the stairs. Crap, guess I need to work on the strength of elbow jab as he doesn't even look like he is in any more pain. Or his family jewels are just really tiny and I managed to miss them. Yep, I like the second option.

"COME ON!" I'm pushing the dang button, and nothing is happening! I stomp my high heeled foot in frustration.

"OUCH! WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?" Opps! I completely forgot about the poor soul I had knocked down in my escape-death-by-ex-psycho-boyfriend-by-jabbing-him-in-the-ball-sack-and-running-like-hell-and-taking-a-flying-leap-into-the-claustrophobic-elevator-of-death plan. Anyways! Apparently my high heel hasn't forgotten about them, as it is still lodged in their hand.

"I am SOOOO sorry!" I turn away from the doors that Gunther is still running frantically towards, as they begin to close, and look down on the innocent bystander. I offer a hand to them and make eye contact.

_Oh. My. GOD! _Because this is no ordinary innocent bystander. This is a very hot bystander. A very hot bystander with chocolate eyes. A very hot bystander with chocolate eyes who's name just happens to be Ty Blue. A very hot bystander with chocolate eyes who's name just happens to be Ty Blue and also happens to be an ex-boyfriend of mine.

The elevator doors ding close behind me. I turn and start pounding on them. "GUNTHER! HELP!"

**Just for the record, I 3 Gunther. Him being a little bit crazy just fit my purposes. Haha! I haven't really decided who my ship is...and that never happens. I'm usually very dead set in a ship, and when it's sunk, I tend to get pissed off. Thus, my extreme disdain of The Hunger Games...So while I enjoy CeGe stories, I'm probably a bigger Cy fan at the moment. I blame my Best Friend's Brother complex that I seem to have...**

**But who knows? If this fic turns out good for me, I may have to take a shot at writing a CeGe story...  
**

**Anywho, reviews are appreciated.  
**


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